


Learning the Language

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU, Accidental Dom, Cardassian Anatomy, Human Anatomy, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Overeager Sub, Short Story, Slow Burn, Tailoring, clandestine meetings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: A re-telling of Garak and Bashir's first encounters, but in a setting that has no Universal Translator. Expect a lot of hand gestures and miscommunication.For the Babel Trek Open Project
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 26
Kudos: 95





	1. First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Babel Trek project, which means no Universal Translators. I’m bending that JUST a little. For the purpose of this story, Odo, Kira, and the Bajorans working with Starfleet (engineers, deputies, nurses) received specific Bajoran-to-Federation Standard translators so they could interact with the officers. But UTs don’t exist.  
> 

Julian took a sip of his tea and ventured a glance around the replimat. His padd didn’t hold quite the same allure as all of the new and strange faces surrounding him at the other lunch tables. The clinical study of Algorian mammoth antibodies and their applications in prevention of tissue rejection during organ transplants  _ should _ have held his attention, but the writing of this particular article was dry, long-winded, and just plain dull.

A slight scuff behind him was all the warning he received before discovering a gray man in a gaudy green outfit by his side. The kindly face outlined with bulbous ridges broke into a wide grin. “Ah, Dok-ter Ba’ssheer?” He bowed slightly, then held up his hand, palm outward. “ _ S’konet.  _ Hello.”

Tentatively, Julian returned the gesture, feeling soft, smooth, and surprisingly cool skin when they touched.

The man continued to gaze at him piercingly, lips still stretching in a grin. He kept their palms together for a moment more, just long enough that Julian began to sweat, wondering if he’d botched the introduction. But the hand finally dropped, and the other man seated himself across the table.

Julian breathed a sigh of relief, but remained nervous. Did his acquaintance speak Federation Standard? If not, this could be rather awkward. He hoped that just because he belonged to Starfleet, everyone wouldn’t expect him to speak their language. True, he knew more than anyone was aware, and could probably pick one up in a week or less, but at the moment…

The man laid a hand against his own chest. “Garak.”

Was that his name? Julian pointed to him. “Garak?”

A nod. “ _ Something something something  _ Garak.”

What language was that? Had the stranger just given the rest of his name, or some sort of greeting? “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you just said,” he apologized. “I don’t speak that language.”

The man tilted his head inquisitively. “Ah! Speak.” He pointed to Julian. “Federaji.” Then to himself. “Kardasi.”

Julian felt a spark of excitement. “Kardasi? You’re a Cardassian?”

A polite nod.

He hadn’t heard of any Cardassians left behind when the ore processing center known as Terok Nor was ceded to Bajor. Now known as Deep Space Nine and being “aided” by the Federation, the station was almost entirely inhabited by humans and Bajorans.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Cardassian.” Yet. “I know, um, Vulcan and a little Andorian…”

Garak tilted his head the other way, looking very interested. He responded, but Julian didn’t recognize any of the words. There were a lot of hard consonants and some clicks and hisses. 

Despite the lack of ability to communicate, the Cardassian seemed genuinely cordial, and since no one else had made any overtures of friendship, Julian decided to make the best of the situation. “Would you care for some of this Tarkalean tea? It’s very good.” He held up his cup.

Garak’s eyes flitted from Julian’s face to the beverage and back again. He reached out, cautiously taking the cup from his hand. Only then did the doctor realize what he’d offered. There weren’t any additional drinks on the table, so the other man must have deduced he was offering his own. Garak took a sip, still meeting Julian’s gaze, and he realized just how blue the Cardassian’s eyes were. The expression now was changing from interest to speculation as he returned the cup to the human.

“ _ Something lengthy in Kardasi _ Garak’s Clothiers.” Garak gestured in the direction of the promenade. 

Julian leaned out of his seat to get a better look, but the wall of the replimat was in the way. Hurriedly, he pulled up a map on his padd. “Oh! You’re a tailor!”

Garak smiled ebulliently. “Yes! Tailor!” He bent forward, murmuring something else in his exotic language, and his eyes slowly trailed down Julian’s body and back up again, giving the younger man a sudden case of prickles across his back and arms.

He was probably inviting Julian to come shop for clothes, right? Julian nodded, trying to seem receptive. Garak’s eyes widened in interest. “You…  _ something something something  _ my shop?”

“Um, yes. Sure.” Julian nodded again. There’d be no harm in stopping by to say hi. Maybe Garak could help him learn Kardasi.

“Oh, Dok-ter.” The voice had dropped lower, the smile sharper, and his eyes warmed up. Julian was surprised to feel a smooth hand cover his on top of the table, and he jumped. Garak chuckled lowly, and gave a gentle squeeze. But he let go, and stood up from the table. Bowing again, he said, “I  _ something  _ go now.” He made a few movements with his hands, like he was sewing. 

“Yes, of course, I’ll let you get back to work. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Garak.”

The Cardassian began to walk away, but stopped behind the doctor, who jumped again at the feel of cool hands on his shoulders. He said something else, but all Julian understood was “good, good friends.” And then he walked away, one hand trailing across Julian’s back.

Cardassians must be a very tactile species.


	2. Staff Meeting

He didn’t bring up the encounter until the senior staff meeting the following day.

Captain Sisko opened. “The Cardassians left an absolute disaster when they departed. The cleanup is moving slowly. I know you all have a lot on your plates, but if you volunteer to help out in your time off, I’ll see that you receive an increased stipend.” He stared at the faces around the table, his expression making it clear that this was more of an order than a suggestion.

“How many Cardassians remained behind?” Julian inquired. “I just met Mr. Garak yesterday, in the replimat. He seemed quite nice, really.”

Major Kira made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “He’s the only one still here. Thank the Prophets.”

Constable Odo sat up straighter in his seat. “My understanding is that he wasn’t welcome to return with the rest of the populace. The reason why is… unclear.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Although I have suspicions.”

“Well, let’s leave conjecture out of this for now,” Commander Sisko recommended. “What is his role? Is he dangerous?”

“He’s a tailor,” Julian said at the same time as Odo replied, “He may be.”

The captain’s head turned between the two gentlemen. He stopped at Odo. “Explain.”

“He seemed acquainted with Prefect Dukat, although there is some level of animosity between them. But still, if he was simply-” and here he glanced at Dr. Bashir, “a  _ tailor _ , he’d most likely be beneath the man’s notice. There are also… rumors. That he may have actually remained behind on purpose, to gather information.”

“You mean he’s a spy?” the major asked. She frowned.

Chief O’Brien mumbled something from his end of the table. It sounded like, “Bloody Cardie.”

The commander didn’t openly acknowledge the comment, but the brief glare in his direction made the chief squirm in his seat.

Julian missed the interaction; he was still stuck on the comments from Kira and Odo. A spy? He’d made contact with a spy? Or rather, the agent had contacted  _ him _ . “Commander Sisko!” He winced. That had come out louder than he’d intended. “Mr. Garak approached me at lunch yesterday. He, ah, introduced himself and invited me to his shop. Do you think he’s trying to-to make a  _ connection,  _ or befriend me to steal Federation secrets?” What if he was? “I could surveil him! I could get to know him, and…Chief! You could put a monitoring device on me, right?”

O’Brien looked perplexed, opening and closing his mouth. He turned to Sisko for guidance.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Sisko responded. But he looked back at Bashir. “Do you speak Cardassian, Doctor? I don’t recall seeing that on your record.”

“Um, no. But I could learn.” He was eager to. This was more exciting than he’d expected.

“Constable, you speak Cardassian, don’t you? And Major?” The commander rotated his chair to face them. They both nodded. “Doctor, I believe Odo and Major Kira are better qualified for keeping tabs on our… tailor. You best leave it to them for now.”

“But he approached  _ me! _ ” 

The major was Bajoran, and it was no secret that she loathed the people who had recently been oppressing hers. And Odo… Well, Julian didn’t actually know much about Odo, except that he was a shape-shifter. A small part of him acknowledged that the constable would probably be much more qualified for spying on a spy; he could turn into a support column, or a plate, or even a scarf in the tailor’s shop. But still. Julian felt absurdly like Garak was  _ his.  _ He looked around the table for support, but most of the faces were blank, except for Lieutenant Dax, who seemed to be amused. To his amazement, she winked at him.

“I don’t see any harm in letting Dr. Bashir get to know Mr. Garak a little better. He obviously wants to… pursue this.” She gave her boss a look that Julian couldn’t decipher, but it seemed to deflate the commander.

“Alright, Doctor. Go ahead. But watch what you say around him, okay?”

Confused, Julian furrowed his brow.

Dax leaned over. “He means you like to talk a lot.”

The chief engineer scoffed audibly. “You can say that again.”


	3. Infirmary

Julian’s shift in the infirmary began with the arrival of Tahna Los, a Bajoran covered in scars and more recent injuries, and whose arrival had been announced with the man collapsing on the transporter pad just as his ship was shot down by Cardassian pursuers.

The doctor did what he could, then notified his Commander when he finished. Sisko arrived shortly after, in the company of Major Kira. Julian left to give them privacy, but he could kind of hear what was going on from the next room over. Tahna knew Kira, apparently, and informed her that he was seeking asylum. She was ready to grant it immediately, but the offer was dismissed. Sisko tried to dismiss the major as well, but realized he needed her for translation.

From what Julian could catch, the Bajoran male was a member of the _Kohn-Ma,_ a group that had fought the Cardassians during the occupation of Bajor. Which shouldn’t have been a problem, except that he and his cell had continued after the withdrawal. 

Julian prepared some additional pain medication in a hypospray and told Sisko that Tahna needed rest. He wanted to ask the man some questions himself, but knew it would have to wait.

Instead, he used his down time to pull up all of the information he could on Cardassians. 

Which turned out to be not much.

There was no dictionary for Federation Standard to Kardasi or vice versa. There _was_ a program for learning Bajoran, though. He was willing to bet the Bajorans had materials on the Cardassian language, so it looked like he’d have to learn Bajoran first. Upon reflection, that might help to smooth things over with Major Kira. She was still bristling over him referring to his job on DS9 as “frontier medicine.”

The best he could find was a diagram of Cardassian anatomy. Unfortunately, most of the physiological terms were in Federation Standard. Less than half had translations in Kardasi. He studied it closely, though, desperate to at least pick up what he could. 

Like most humanoids, Cardassians were bipedal, with the standard 2 arms and central torso layout. The hair and nails were common to most species as well. Unlike Trill, they had no distinctive spots or pouch for a symbiont, and unlike Klingons, they had only one of each organ. No transparent skull like the Gallamites or antennae like the Andorians. As far as he could tell, there were three defining features of Cardassians: a thick, gray epidermis that emulated scales, ridges that decorated most portions of the body, and a cloaca. The closest race he could think of was the reptilian Gorn, although Cardassians most definitely did not have a snout, and _did_ have external structures to their ears.

He quickly committed the list to memory, for all the good it would do him. Terms like arm, leg, auricular ridge, or nostril just don’t come in handy during everyday conversation.

Julian decided it would be in his best interest as a doctor to get to know Garak better. As the only Cardassian on the station, his knowledge could be invaluable in the future. He wondered how amenable the tailor would be to helping him learn medical terminology as well as general language. If only he had a specimen that he could examine internally, too. Diagrams weren’t terribly helpful for understanding the functions and interactions of organ systems. But still, as impatient as he was to further his edification, he hoped nothing serious happened to his new acquaintance that would result in furthering it along. 

He spent the rest of the day organizing the infirmary, which was a more difficult task than he’d initially anticipated. Apparently, the Cardassians running Terok Nor hadn’t put much stock in healthcare, because there was hardly any space for storage and most of the equipment he found was outdated or broken. They hadn’t even installed biobeds! The ones there now had been provided by Starfleet. And of course, the former staff had deleted all of their medical databases when they left, unwilling to let such vital information fall into the hands of the Federation.

He tried making conversation, but none of the nurses seemed interested in helping him learn their native language.They were friendly enough, although a little standoffish, which he decided was entirely fair. They were much more concerned about the man that he’d healed and was currently sleeping in their midst. Some called him a terrorist and claimed that he was stirring up unnecessary trouble for Bajorans, while others insisted that his actions were justified, that he was paying the Cardassians back for over half a century of oppression. 

Julian felt conflicted. So much of what he’d heard about the occupation had painted Cardassians in a very poor light. He’d heard them described as an arrogant, dictatorial, unforgiving race, which clashed with what he’d experienced with Mr. Garak. 

But then, Constable Odo thought he may be a spy. Could the congenial manners have been a performance?

After the shift was over, he headed to Quark’s, which was turning out to be the best place on the station to observe everyone casually while relaxing. There were so many more species on DS9 than there had been at the Academy, and it was fascinating. But upon entering, he found a familiar face seated in a dark corner, prompting him to head in that direction instead of a barstool at the counter.

“ _S’konet,_ Dok-ter. Good… good even-ing?”

It looked like Garak had been learning more Federation Standard. “That’s right,” he praised. “Good evening, to you too, Mr. Garak.”

The Cardassian shook his head but didn’t look offended. “No, no mister. Only Garak.”

“Alright, Only Garak.”

“Sit, Dok-ter?” The tailor asked.

“Yes, but just a moment, I need a drink.” He quickly selected an image from the touchscreen at the counter, and a Ferengi server brought it over as he seated himself across the table from his companion. “So Garak, what brings you to Quark’s? Here for a drink?” He motioned to his synthale. 

Garak did that thing where he tilted his head again, like he was trying to decipher something. He took Julian’s glass and sniffed it. 

Oh no, he’d done it again. He tried not to facepalm as the tailor once more tried his beverage. 

“What is?” Garak asked, making a face at the taste.

“Synthale. Haven’t you had it before?”

“ _Grek.”_

Julian wasn’t sure how to respond. Was that a no, a yes, or a comment on the flavor, like “sour” or “gross?” He sighed. “I need to learn more of your language.” 

“Dok-ter.” Garak spoke lowly and pointed to his eyes, then turned in his seat a little to look at something upstairs. Julian followed the gaze.

Two Klingon women who were seated on the upper level suddenly unstraddled their seats and rushed down the stairs, where they were met by… Tahno Los? The three of them disappeared around a corner.

Julian had heard about the Duras sisters. What business would they have with the newly-arrived Bajoran? He turned back to Garak, who was raising his ocular ridges. _Flit_ was the singular term for that facial structure, he remembered. What was the plural? His eyes traced the features from cheekbones to forehead, wondering if they felt more smooth and cold, like scales, or warm and soft, like skin.

Garak cleared his throat. It took Julian a second to switch gears from anatomy back to the current circumstances. It seemed the Cardassian thought there was something of significance going on, and wanted him to be aware of it. Oh! Was he sharing intelligence? Why hadn’t he gone to Constable Odo instead? Julian felt a quick thrill at the fact the tailor had chosen him, even if he didn’t know why. 

“The women are the Duras sisters,” he said, receiving a nod in the affirmative. That was… intriguing. What would a simple tailor know about political dissidence and power plays in the Klingon Empire? “And Tahna Los, do you know him?” Yes again. Very interesting. “Do you have any idea why they’re meeting?” he ventured, and was greeted with a blank stare. “Um, do you,” he pointed to Garak, “know” pointed to his forehead, “why they” a wave at the departed figures “speak?” This was beginning to feel ridiculous. One of these days he was going to invent a universal translator.

The Cardassian narrowed his eyes, reaching up to touch his own forehead, and Julian fell back in his seat, defeated. The message had been lost in translation.


	4. Clandestine Meetings

To Julian’s disappointment, his announcement that the Klingons were dealing with a Bajoran seeking asylum wasn’t met with commendation. The commander and constable merely held a “wait and see” attitude that baffled him. He left Ops feeling rather let down.

But lunch presented a new chance to stay in the game. “ _ Sikonit,  _ Garak!” he declared, excited to use a Kardasi word.

The tailor looked less than impressed. “No, no.  _ S’konet.” _ Julian couldn’t hear a difference. Maybe more of a hiss at the beginning. Garak took his arm, leading him aside. He drew the doctor’s attention to two Bajoran men down the promenade. They were speaking with Tahna Los. The man definitely got around.

“Who are they?” Julian asked, trying for a better view.

“Dok-ter!” Garak pulled him back, out of their line of sight. “Ssshh.” He sounded like a snake. “Kohn-Ma.”

“What do you think they’re doing here?”

The Cardassian sighed. He made a lengthy diatribe, none of which Julian could decipher. Although maybe it didn’t matter, because he sort of seemed to be talking to himself. Finally, Garak met his eyes. He poked Julian in the chest. “ _ Something something something  _ Garak’s Clothiers.” He recognized the phrasing from their first meeting. 

“You want me to come to your store? Alright, I have a minute.” He started to walk off, only to be held in place by the hand that hadn’t left his bicep.

“No, Dok-ter!” Garak dragged him toward a public console, where he poked a couple buttons until a chrono came up. He typed in a time. 2055. As Julian read it, the tailor poked him in the chest again. “Garak’s Clothiers.” 

“You… you want me to come to your store at 2055? What for?”

Gray lips curled up on one side, and the man blinked at him coquettishly. “ _ Shop _ . I tailor you.” The comment seemed innocuous enough, but the thumb on his upper arm caressed very slightly, the back of it also brushing his chest. A faint tingle echoed in a completely different portion of his torso. 

As he rushed back to Commander Sisko, Julian tried to dissect their interaction.. He couldn’t get the final phrase out of his mind. He kept hearing it on repeat, with the expression burning into his brain. And it was definitely the rear-most, less refined portion of his brain. Was it the tone of voice? The suggestion of being…  _ tailored?  _ The thrill of plotting with a possibly-dangerous spy?

But first… “Sir, I need some guidance. It’s about Garak, the Cardassian. This relationship has gotten a little out of control. Something’s going on; he showed me. Did you know there are Kohn-Ma on the station?”

“There are? How did you know? Wait, let me guess: Mr. Garak.”

“Yes, he pointed them out to me. And sir, he wants me to come to his shop at 2055 this evening.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said I need a tailor.”

The commander snickered. “Perhaps you do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. Why the spy chose you to be his contact with Starfleet is anybody’s guess, but choose you he did. It would seem that Mr. Garak is as concerned about Bajoran terrorists on board the station as we are, and sometimes communications can’t be conducted through official channels. So at 2055 this evening,  _ you _ are going to visit the tailor.”

And so he found himself racing into Garak’s Clothiers that evening, 2 minutes late because he’d been trying to comb his hair into something suave and sophisticated, worthy of a secret agent for the Federation. Garak glared at him while yanking him toward the back of the shop. He snatched a jacket from a display, practically throwing it at the doctor. The next thing Julian knew, he was standing in a changing room, clutching a plain gray garment as the tailor put a finger to his lips, signalling him not to speak. Then the curtain was shut, and Julian was left to figure out just what he was supposed to be doing.

He held up the jacket, curious if it might actually work for him. It was a little too long and pale for his taste. 

Voices erupted from the front of the shop, diverting his attention. He tossed the jacket down, only to notice at the last second that a small black cylinder was resting on the bench. He pulled it out from under the clothing and studied it. Half of the outer casing was covered in mesh, and the top had a push button. A recording device!

The vociferous discussion outside grew louder, and he chanced a peek. Garak seemed to be attempting to charm the Duras sisters, who were yelling at him. It took Julian a moment to realize that the Cardassian was communicating in  _ Klingon.  _ His normally low and melodious voice had become loud and harsh.

Oh shit, he was supposed to be recording this. He pushed the button on the device. A blinking blue light told him it was activated.

The encounter didn’t last long. He couldn’t make out most of it, but the word “bilitrium” came up a few times. As soon as the sisters left, Garak came and brought him out.

“That was fantastic! You speak Klingon?”

Garak’s lips turned up. “Speak Klingon.” He held his thumb and forefinger up, signifying “a little.” It certainly hadn’t sounded that way; the tailor has spoken downright fluently as far as he could tell.

“Well, I got the conversation, or most of it.” Julian held up the recorder. 

Garak raised his ocular ridges, pretending to be surprised. He put his hands out, palms up, and asked a question in Kardasi. Julian had the impression it was something along the lines of “Wherever did that come from?”

He smiled back. “I’ll make sure this gets to Commander Sisko,” he promisedd, pocketing the item. Stepping toward the exit, he found himself blocked by the Cardassian.

“Dok-ter...” was followed by more Kardasi, but Julian was distracted by the arm that snaked around him, a cool hand pressing into his back. Garak’s other hand waved at the clothing in the shop, then back to the changing room.

“You… you want me to come back?” 

Blue eyes peered into his, and even though Garak still had that small smile, the quality had changed. He felt a thumb skim down his spine, sending out a small jolt. The other hand plucked at his sleeve, and Garak shook his head, tsking. 

Julian laughed uneasily. “Well, I don’t like my uniform, either, but I don’t think you’re allowed to alter it.” Unless… was he saying that the doctor might be better off  _ without _ it? Garak was much deeper in his personal space than during their previous encounters, so when the thumb moved again, this time the spark had a definite southbound destination. Julian gulped. Did Garak want him to come back for another meeting, for tailoring, or… something else? 

And suddenly the heat alongside his body vanished and he found himself alone, dumbstruck in the middle of the store.

“Good even-ing, Dok-ter.”

Julian returned to his quarters, where he took a quick cold shower and then leapt headlong into research on bilitrium and spent the next few hours learning what he could about the rare crystalline element. It was best known for being an incredibly powerful source of energy, but only if combined with an antimatter converter. At that point, it would become a bomb.

With that knowledge, he returned to Ops.

Commander Sisko examined the device in his hands. “You’re sure they were discussing bilitrium?”

“Yes sir. If you like, play back the conversation. It comes up several times.”

“And you say that if it is joined to an antimatter converter, it makes a bomb?”

“A significantly destructive one, yes.”

“Then we have a problem.”

“Sir?”

“That’s why the Cardassians were chasing Tahna Los. He stole one from them.”

Sisko sent a file of the recording off to a Klingon interpreter for verification and called an informal meeting of the senior staff in the interim. “Okay people, we’ve got a Bajoran Kohn-Ma agent with an antimatter converter and Klingons with bilitrium. If they get together, we have the ingredients for an extremely potent bomb.”

Major Kira broke in. “Tahna met with me and requested a runabout,” she said quietly.

“Do you think he’s going to arrange a meeting off the station?” Sisko asked.

“It’d be safer for him to do so,” Odo commented. “I can’t stop an exchange if I don’t know where it’s happening.”

Kira spoke up. “I could go with him.”

A lieutenant called out across the room. “Commander! I have a Priority 1 message from Starfleet!”

The group waited impatiently as he took it. They didn’t have long to wait. Sisko returned, looking grim. “The recording was verified. The Duras sisters have the bilitrium, and they’re going to sell it to Tahna. They’re meeting at the second moon of Bajor VIII. Chief O’Brien, you and I will take a second runabout, and we’ll wait  _ behind _ that moon to avoid detection.”

“Aye, sir.”

Sisko turned to Kira. “Alright, Major. You go with Tahna. Find out what his plans are. And be careful. Dax, you stay in touch with us on a secured channel. Keep an eye on the Cardassians. They’ll be coming to the party, too.”

Odo returned to his security office, where he could monitor Kira and Tahna until they left. 

It looked like everyone had something to do except for Julian. “Need any help, Dax?”

“No, I think I’ve got this under control.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “Hey, you helped out already. Besides, if this blows up--” she stopped herself. “Sorry, bad choice of words. If this doesn’t go well, we’ll probably need a  _ lot _ more of your help.” 

So he returned to the infirmary, where he puttered around for two hours until receiving news. Tahna had tried blowing up the entrance to the wormhole to keep the Cardassians and Federation away from Bajor, but he’d only succeeded in uniting the two groups to defeat him. 

The only injuries Julian had to take care of were some bruises from Major Kira’s personal battle against the terrorist. He learned several new Bajoran words that afternoon. But he was pretty sure most--if not all--of them were curses.


	5. Tailoring

A small party was thrown in Dax’s quarters, where everyone was congratulated on a job well done. Everyone except Garak.

Julian decided his friend needed to be praised, too, so on his next day off he stopped by Quark’s to pick something up. The Ferengi claimed that Cardassians were fond of a liquor called kanar, and sold him a moderately-priced bottle. He carried it over to the tailor’s shop, telling himself that this was just a friendly social call, nothing more. Sternly. Several times.

“Ah, Dok-ter Ba’ssheer! Welcome!” Julian liked the way Garak said his name and title. It was growing on him. He presented his gift. “What is? Kanar?” The tailor took the bottle, looking at Julian questioningly.

“Well, I just wanted to thank you for your help. With the, ah, Tahna Los matter.”

“You give kanar for thank you?”

Julian smiled sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t sure really what you would like, so I asked Quark. Is it okay?”

“Very okay. Thank  _ you _ .”

“Your Federation Standard is getting better. Have you been practicing?”

“I read. I learn.” He shrugged modestly.

Julian smiled with encouragement. “You succeed.” He looked around. “Anyway, you asked me to come back, so… Here I am.” He held his hands out a little, then let them drop.

Garak muttered something in Kardasi as he made his way around the counter. He stopped in front of Julian, giving him a frank appraisal from head to toe. “I… tailor for you?”

“I’ve got all day. So tailor away.” He received an inscrutable look, but Garak hooked his arm and escorted him back to the changing rooms, so he followed willingly. He’d never actually been to a tailor shop before. His mother and aunt had made his clothes as a child, and as he got older he simply stuck with replicators. He was looking forward to a novel experience. The fact that he was with a possible spy, and one who barely spoke his language, would make it all the more of an adventure.

When he was delivered to the changing room, Garak gestured to his clothes and spoke a single word. “Off.”

Adventure, indeed! “Off?”

“Yes, Dok-ter.” He pinched the shirt fabric and held up a scanner to it, shaking his head. “No good. Off.”

Julian was beginning to wish he’d worn his uniform instead of civvies. At least that had an undershirt. But he complied, slipping his shirt over his head to hang it up. Garak was studying his chest with mild interest. Maybe he’d only seen Bajorans so far. He seemed to be waiting for the doctor to do something else, but when nothing happened, he shrugged and lifted the scanner and gave a gentle shove, turning Julian around. The heat from the tool ghosted over his skin as it traced horizontally over his upper back. He tried not to shiver. The feeling repeated from his neck and down his spine, stopping at his trousers.

Garak turned him back, and he watched the concentrating face as the man traced around his neckline, then from throat to shoulder. Should he say something? Does one talk to their tailor while getting measured? He froze as the device dropped lower, skirting from underarm to underarm, passing directly over his chest, part of which blatantly stood up and took notice. That probably happened to lots of customers, right?

Garak took hold of his forearm and lifted it away from his body. But instead of scanning, he asked a question. “What is?” He traced a finger from the shoulder down to the wrist.

“Um, my arm?”

“Arm?”

To make sure he had the right word, he tried the Kardasi term he’d picked up. “ _ Kurlat.  _ Arm.”

“Dok-ter! You speak Kardasi!”

“Just a little.” He made the sign for tiny with his fingers.

Garak ran the machine down the limb. “Arm,” he repeated. 

He touched Julian’s shoulder. “What is?”

“Shoulder.”

“Sshulder.” A measurement from shoulder to elbow, then another from elbow to wrist. Garak was holding his hand now to keep it still. He rubbed his thumb over the tendons on the back surface. “What is?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Um,  _ silik?  _ Hand.”

“ _ Ssilik,”  _ he corrected. “Hand.” Garak let go to run the scanner around his waist. It was skinnier than Julian would have liked, but no matter how much he ate, nothing ever seemed to stick. Most likely due to his accelerated metabolism. 

Garak had paused. 

Julian looked at him, waiting for instructions. The tailor tapped at his belt. “Off.”

Well, that was going to make him look even more like a twig. The only reason he even wore belts was for the aesthetic. But he undid the clasp and slid it out of the loops to set on the bench. 

Garak huffed. He pointed at the trousers. “ _ Off _ .” 

“Oh.” Julian glanced at the curtain, wondering if the tailor would leave while he undressed. Garak followed his gaze but came to a different conclusion.

“Ah.” He closed the curtain, sealing them in. At least no one who entered the store would see him.  _ This is probably perfectly normal for going to a tailor, _ he told himself.  _ You want accurate measurements, do you? It’s just like going to the doctor, a necessary step.  _ He removed his shoes and slid his bottoms off, dumping them on the bench with his belt. Garak made a noise of discontent and picked the garment up, folding it neatly and draping it over a hanger.  _ See? Professional. _

But then the tailor knelt down. He put a hand on Julian’s thigh and looked back up at him. “What is?”

Julian tried to swallow, but his mouth had suddenly gone very dry. “Um,  _ hegt  _ is leg.”

“Leg.”

He lifted his foot and wiggled his toes. “ _ Oedz.  _ Foot.”

“Dok-ter Ba’ssheer. You learn body in Kardasi?” Garak asked coyly.

“Just--ah, just some of the parts. I have a diagram in the… infirmary. You know, because I’m a doctor.”

“Hmmm.” 

That noise had no right to hum inside him the way it did. But he was standing mostly naked in front of a man kneeling on the floor, who may or may not be a secret agent for a foreign power, discussing body parts! 

To his relief, Garak held the scanner back out. He ran it from waist to knee, then knee to ankle. “Leg.” He didn’t measure the next part, just laid his hand on it. “Foot.”

The tailor readjusted his position, resting one knee between Julian’s feet. He looked back up, meeting the human’s eyes. Garak’s seemed a bit darker, the pupils larger. Maybe it was just the lighting. Looking back down, the tailor moved his scanning tool to the inside of the ankle and started bringing it up the leg. 

Julian watched, transfixed, as it rose.  _ Inseam _ , he told himself. Where did he even learn that term? It moved higher, passing the knee.  _ Morn in lingerie. Rom giving himself oo-mox. Ensign Vilix’pran molting. Acne. Bunyons.  _ And it stopped. Just a centimeter or so short of utter humiliation.

Until the next question. “What is?”


	6. Connections Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I’m going to assume that Garak didn’t wear thermal undergarments while he was under the effects of the wire/implant.

Garak had stopped at the juncture between Julian’s thighs. “Dok-ter, what is?” He looked… curious.

The question was, what was he referring to? Thigh, crotch, scrotum, groin... penis? 

“Um, why?”

The Cardassian tilted his head, eyes wide open in innocence. “Tailor. I learn.”

So, it was probably just sartorial curiosity. What term would be most appropriate for a tailor to use? “Uh, crotch.”

“Krotch.”

Julian half expected the man to point to his briefs and say, “Off.” He half wanted him to. Instead, Garak stood up, using the wall for help. He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Dok-ter.”

“Julian.” Anyone who saw him undressed ought to at least know his first name.

“Zhuleen?”

“It’s my first name. Julian. Julian Bashir.”

Garak looked at him, considering. “Jzulian.” Some sort of decision was made, and he set down the scanner. Took a step closer. He reached around the human’s waist, pressing his palm to the skin. His hand was cool, but the location was intimate enough that Julian instinctively tightened several muscles.

“What is?”

Oh right, they hadn’t named it earlier. “That’s my back.”

“Bak.” That hand remained, while the other lifted to run down his throat. “What is?”

“Um, neck.”

“Nek.” Okay, the tailor was standing way too close now, and was basically holding him. He could feel heat stirring inside, heading straight for the top of his damn inseam. 

Cardassians _ really _ were tactile.

The hand on his throat moved to the side of his head, the thumb caressing the shell of skin framed by hair. “What is?”

“Ear.” 

Cupped the side of his face. “What is?”

“Cheek.”

This wasn’t tailoring anymore, was it?

A finger traced over his lips. “What is?”

“Mouth,” he whispered.

Garak asked him something in Kardasi, eyes questioning but with a noticeably naughtier glint.

Julian had no idea what he said (well, not in the exact sense, anyway), but the answer was an unequivocal “Yes.”

The arm around his midsection drew him closer. Unsure what to do with his own hands, he brought them up to the  [ humerocollic ridges ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949294/chapters/60389701) trailing from Garak’s face down across his shoulders. Garak’s startled look almost made him ease off, but he was prevented from doing so by the immediate squeeze around his waist and hungry mouth rising to his own. He stumbled backward into the side wall of the stall, the tailor all but climbing on top of him. He returned the kiss eagerly, trying out the hypothesis that his initial touch had been the catalyst. He returned his hands to Garak’s shoulders, squeezing gently like a massage. The answering hum was accompanied by a cool tongue slipping into his mouth, so he used his thumbs and forefingers to squeeze and pinch gently along the knobbed tendons. Garak gasped and then groaned, the hand on Julian’s face moving around to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer as the Cardassian attempted to devour him.

Their tongues tangled and thrust, heads turning and dipping as they tried different positions and angles, noses occasionally bumping and teeth nibbling. They slid sideways so that Julian was wedged into the corner. Garak nipped along his jawline as the hand behind his head slid down to caress his bare chest. When the palm passed over a brown nipple, sending electricity down his nerves and straight to his cock, a moan escaped. He felt a smile against his cheek, as Garak used his thumb to flick back and forth over Julian’s nub. The heat between his legs doubled, and he could feel himself start to swell against the fabric of his briefs.

There was a delighted little “Oh!” from the man pressed against him, who leaned back a smidge to catch a glimpse between their bodies. Reaching around to cup the quickly lengthening bulge, Garak grinned lasciviously. “ _ Dok-ter… _ ” and the words following that were completely undecipherable but sounded undoubtedly filthy.

Julian shuddered as exploration continued, rubbing maddeningly over the stimulated skin, first above and then venturing below. “Hmmm. Dok-ter, what is…?”

“Ah, um. There’s a couple things down there, actually. But… I was… hoping to maybe see some of  _ you _ , too?”

“Dok-ter?”

“Could you… remove some of your clothes, too? I’d really, really like to see what you look like. I bet it’s fascinating.”

Garak looked doubtful. 

“Um…” Julian tried to mime for the tailor to undress, making motions like removing his tunic and pulling down his trousers.

This time Garak’s jaw dropped. But as it closed, his expression turned heated as he dipped his head to smolder up at Julian with fully-blown pupils in sultry eyes. 

Julian held his breath as the tailor undid some sort of hidden clasp on the front of his tunic to reveal a lighter gray but fascinatingly scaled torso. Garak shrugged the outer garment off, letting it slide from his shoulders but not to the floor. It hung around his elbows, trapping his arms behind his back as he dropped to his knees.

The tailor twinkled up at Julian like he’d just been given a rather large gift. That… had not been expected. But the man looked so pleased with himself and absolutely chuffed--enthusiastic, even--to be there, that… well, it’d be impolite to make him stand back up, wouldn’t it?

Struck by the scene before him, Julian didn’t think he could get much harder. Following the suggestive gaze, he hooked his fingers into his briefs and slid them down his legs to land in a puddle at his feet. Returning to the language lesson, he wrapped his hand around his shaft. “This is my… cock.”

Garak licked his lips. “Kok.”

“And, ah, down below here,” he cupped his sack, rapidly trying to come up with something, “These are my balls.”

“Ballss.” Garak walked forward on his knees, still gazing at Julian with hooded eyes. Never breaking the link, he tipped his head down. As the Cardassian’s tongue emerged and he lapped a long, wide strip up the throbbing erection, Julian’s hands scrambled back to the walls, futilely searching for something to grab onto. The gray tongue was cooler and smoother than a human’s, slickly licking up his shaft to circle around before retreating back into Garak’s mouth. The tailor closed his eyes and hummed, exploring just inside the folds of skin, igniting sparks in the tip. He opened his lips around the head, sucking it and pulling back slightly, and Julian fell back into the corner, feeling the stretch all the way through his cock and into his scrotum.

The mouth enfolding him wasn’t as warm as he was used to, but it was still hotter than the air of the room, and he moaned again when he felt it plunge downward, then rise up and descend again. The play of warm and wet then cool and dry drove him mad as the Cardassian sucked him off. Garak was so  _ good _ . Julian could feel his release begin to build up.

At some point, Garak must have worked free from his tunic, because suddenly one hand gripped Julian’s hip as the other wrapped around the base of his cock. It twisted back and forth for a moment, making Julian see stars. A few fingers wandered lower, probing just below as if in search of something. 

Julian peeked down. “I’m built a little… differently than you.” He took Garak’s hand in his and led it behind, up and inward until he reached what he thought the man was aiming for. He let go, allowing the exploration to continue. The fingers homed in on their prize and traced around it as Garak resumed bobbing his head up and down over Julian’s member. His knees were beginning to shake as the pleasure coursed through him. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, that  _ they _ were  _ here _ doing  _ this. _ But it stopped. 

Garak leaned back, studying the hand that had been teasing Julian’s cleft. He reached forward again, poking around the entrance before withdrawing. He frowned.

Comprehension dawned. “Humans don’t make any lubrication, ah, back there. Not much, anyway.” But of course Garak would have no idea what he meant. “It’s okay,” Julian insisted. “You don’t have to do that for me too. I like this plenty.” He grasped the evidence of his arousal.

Garak wrapped a hand around it too, studying it. He wiped at the small dribbles that had escaped, but shook his head. He looked back up at the doctor and--smiling brazenly--lifted his tunic to dip his hand into his own trousers, hand working quickly. Julian just about died when he removed it, fingers coated in something viscous and almost silvery.

“Oh gods.” Julian maneuvered to the other corner and dropped onto the bench while Garak watched. He wormed his way in between Julian’s legs, spreading them and scooting his arse to the edge with one hand, the other pressing his chest so that he leaned back against the wall. Then he lifted Julian’s legs, draping them over his shoulders. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.”

This time when the mouth engulfed him, slick fingers entered down below, stretching him with lovely little twinges as the rough skin penetrated his tender rings of muscle. He didn’t want to look away,  _ couldn’t  _ look away from the head working furiously between his legs as a fire filled his cock in the most brilliant way. The digits inside him plunged in and out, reaching deeper each time. As they brushed his prostate, he cried out, thrusting up with his hips and digging in with his heels. Garak began moving faster and Julian gripped at the edge of the bench, dreading and desiring the final moments. The heat and spikes of pleasure spread outward, and suddenly it was like a supernova burst inside him, stardust streaming outward and into the mouth sucking him tightly. His back arched without him being aware, rising off the bench, and Garak pulled him down, lying back onto the floor with the human straddling his face. Julian gawped at the view, a second spurt erupting from him at the absolute debauched scene between his knees.

He might have blacked out for a second, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting further down Garak’s body, leaning against his bent knees like they were a chair. The tailor was smiling serenely, idly playing with the smooth skin on Julian’s thighs. “ _ Something something _ good, good friends.”

As soon as his brain and body recovered from the mush they’d devolved into, Jullian made an offer to return affections. But the Cardassian shook his head, saying “No, no,” and pointed to the time on his scanner. He straightened himself out tidily before leaving the dressing room and closing the curtain for the doctor to dress himself. Pulling on his trousers, Julian got a good look at his reflection. Lips red and swollen, hair even more of a mess than usual, eyes agog, mouth in a ridiculous grin.

He emerged a minute late with an idea. Striding over to the man who was unrolling a bolt of fabric as if nothing had happened, he made his pitch. “So. You’ve been learning Federation Standard, er, Federaji. If you have any questions, you could ask me instead of relying on the computers. And maybe also you could help me learn Kardasi? I can’t find any resources on your language.”

Garak looked up. “You want to… learn Kardasi?”

Julian nodded. “I would like to. If you would be willing to help me. What if… What if we met together, say once a week, at lunch?”

“Lunch? Is… eat food?” 

“Yes. In the middle of the day.”

Garak mulled it over. “You, me, eat lunch? Learn Kardasi?”

“And Federaji, too.”

Garak nodded, satisfied. “Yes, good. Bring books.”

Julian supposed that could be helpful in their education. He had a whole collection of data rods full of books. It struck him that not only had he met someone who gave probably the best blow job he’d ever had, but was also willing to see him once a week and learn with him. He glowed, reaching out to lay his hand on Garak’s. “You were right. We’re going to be good, good friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don’t think I’m ever going to get that image out of my head: Garak on his knees with his hands trussed up behind him, saying “Kok” while grinning madly.  
> If you can draw this, contact me on Tumblr. I WILL PAY YOU.  
> (also Xenobotanist on Tumblr)  
> \---All that's left is the epilogue, which I have some really good parts written for. But in case I never get around to finishing, I posted this because technically it *could* end here.---


End file.
